


This Miraculous Victory

by Flick262



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien is once in one very big pickle!, Akumas akumas everywhere!, All hail the Nino, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel Agreste is a complete bastard, Marinette is a total badass, Nino knows all, Not all Germans are bad, Romance because I can!, SS and Gestapo (Boooo!), Spies & Secret Agents, WW2 AU, highspeed chases, please excuse my French
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flick262/pseuds/Flick262
Summary: The WW2 AU that nobody asked for. Marinette escaped with her Family to London during the fall of France and joined the R.A.F. Now she finds herself recruited into the Shadowy world of S.O.E. Trained in espionage she is given the code-name "Bridgette" and dropped into France to help set up a resistance network in Paris. Old friends unite and Marinette struggles with her new identity, but who is the strange creature with the earings? And who is the mysterious Chat Noir? And what the hell is Adrien doing in a German uniform?





	1. The Beginning

Marinette winced as another stick of bombs came shrieking down near the slit trench. The steadily approaching crump of bombs sounding like the approaching steps of an angry giant, accompanied by the rattle and tomptomptomp of anti-aircraft guns and the thundering roar of the Heinkel’s overhead interspersed with the rumbling purr of the Spitfires and hurricanes struggling to get airborne. 

The crackling of flames and the feel of bits of shrapnel and debris falling with melodic “tings” and “flumps” on her helmet reminded her of her family’s flight from Paris, the dreaded Stuka’s bombing anything that looked like a target. Once again, she thanked all the saints that they’d made it to Calais in time to climb aboard one of the last civilian vessels to leave. 

A scream yanked Marinette from her memories, quickly she bobbed her head above the lip of the trench to see two men about 20 yards away, one was dressed in dark blue mechanics coveralls and the other was dressed in blue battledress of a ground-crewman. The mechanic was clutching his leg and screaming while the crewman was merely lying face down. While this was serious in itself, what made Marinette’s blood run cold was the petrol bowser the men were hiding behind, which she knew to almost full having seen it heading out just before the raid started.  
Without even thinking Marinette was up and running, only vaguely aware of the shouts of the others in her trench, her eyes focused on getting to her goal. Once again, she cursed the R.A.F. for having low heeled shoes, they just weren’t good for running, especially on tarmac. She dropped to her knees, her stockings shredding on the rubble strewn ground beside the two men. The mechanic was sobbing and Marinette shuddered at the jagged piece of metal imbedded in his calf and sticking out the other side, crimson blood pooling and soaking his (and now her) blue uniform. The crewman was struggling to sit up, his own blood trickling down from head wound.   
“Can you stand?” Marinette snapped at him as she quickly assessed the mechanic’s wound.  
“I... I think... urgh, so…,” groaned the man as Marinette hefted the mechanic into a fireman’s hold.   
“Then move,” she snarled, pulling him to his feet and pushing him roughly in the direction of the slit trench.   
As they stumbled forward, Marinette began to hope against hope that maybe, just possibly she could get away with this, that the bowser would be missed.   
But no. Sometimes all the good luck in the world couldn’t stop the effects of war. 

Within half a dozen yards of the trench, Marinette looked up to see the ashen faces of her friends in the trench looking at something behind her, against her better judgement she turned to look and froze.   
A hurricane, its engine belching smoke, its pilot clearly struggling to stay in control, had made an emergency landing and was rolling out of control down the runway, two 109’s hurtling in for the kill, the plane's brakes had failed and while its speed was dropping, it wasn’t slow enough, it course leading it straight towards the fuel bowser. The pilot had obviously seen the danger both in front and behind and was struggling desperately with his harness, his young almost childish face twisted in terror as he screamed at his harness.  
As the hurricane hurtled past where she stood, Marinette’s eyes locked with the tear-streaked face of the pilot, his eyes widened at the contact but his face suddenly relaxed, the lines of fear wiped from his face as he leaned back in the cockpit in his final seconds.   
The plane hit the bowser and for one gut-wrenching second, the world went still, then the Messerschmitt opened up, Marinette could have sworn she saw a cannon shell fly almost in slow motion through the air, punch through the wing and straight into the tank of liquid explosive below, then the world blossomed in flames, the heat hitting Marinette like a flood, she turned and flung the limp body of the mechanic towards the trench as she herself stumbled towards the safety it offered, as she fell into the grasp of her friends and comrades Marinette found her world growing dark until finally, blackness was all that was left. 

 

Adrien woke with a gasp, his nightmare fresh in his vision. He wiped his eyes as the pounding of his heart and the rasping beat of machineguns was replaced with the urgent knocking on his bedroom door.   
“Adrien? Your father wishes you to come down for breakfast!”  
The blond man sighed, 22 years of age and still being hauled around on a leash by his damn treacherous father!  
“Coming Natalie,” he called before sliding out of bed and padding across the floor to the ensuite.  
Having washed and shaved, Adrien slowly (not to displease his father, that would be childish) made his way through the cold, empty corridors of the Agreste Mansion to the dining room. 

By the time he reached the table his father had already finished breakfast and was waiting with obvious impatience at the head of the table.   
“I’ve made arrangements for you to accompany me to an event tonight,” he all but snapped as Adrien went to sat down.  
“What?” Adrien smiled thinly, “No modelling shoot? No attempts at arranged marriages?”  
“watch your tongue boy!”  
“what’s the event?”  
“Standartenführer Knochen has invited us to an evening’s entertainment.”   
“I’m not going near SS!”  
“You don’t have a choice!”  
“I know what happened to my men!”  
“No one cares!”  
Adrien slumped in his seat as if his father had physically punched him. The horror he felt at his father’s words was burning, darkness began to creep in the corners of his vision as his father stormed out of the room but he forced it back, he wouldn’t black out, he wouldn’t dream of their screams, the slow callous shots of the SS men as they executed the survivors of his unit. The sneering face of SS officer above him, telling his thugs to leave him alive, his father was friendly and important. 

He stood and slowly made his way out of the house, not sure of where his feet were taking him they led him down the cobbled streets, crowded as they were with Saturday morning foot traffic. He tried to ignore the Wehrmacht field police and the throngs of off-duty soldiers wearing uniforms that had no business in Paris.   
Suddenly his thoughts were jerked from their downward spiral by a scream in front of him, his eyes darted to where the woman was pointing and saw an old oriental gentleman had stumbled on the road in front of an oncoming lorry.   
Without even stopping to think Adrien leapt forward and dragged the man off the road, wincing as the lorry’s tires shattered the cane the gentleman had left behind.   
“Are you alright?” Adrien turned to the old man who was struggling to his feet as a crowd of onlookers gathered around them.   
“Why yes,” smiled the gentleman as he patted himself down, “Thank you for your timely assistance young man!”  
Adrien couldn’t help the small smile that came to his face, “That is quite all right monsieur,” his face fell, “though I am sorry about your cane!”  
“Think nothing of it, my boy,” came the reply, “It made me feel old anyway!”   
“Could I at least help you home? Call you a cab?”  
“No no,” the man smiled as he began to shuffle his way along the pavement, “I’ll be just fine, enjoy your day monsieur.”

Adrien shook his head, chuckling at the old man’s determination before continuing down the streets, his feet taking him to the one person he knew he had to talk to. 

Nino Lahiffe was a musician through and through, but while he played almost every instrument Adrien could name, his true passions were three things, composing new tunes, food and Alya Ceasaire (though Alya was vying for second place at the rate Nino was falling).  
Adrien and Nino had known each other for years, in spite of Gabriel Agreste’s disapproval. They’d enjoyed high school together, and Adrien had been sure to invest some of his money in Nino’s music shop. When war broke out Adrien had even pulled some strings to get Nino in his unit.  
Fortunately for Nino, he’d been wounded a week before the surrender and had been brought back to Paris. He now spent his days selling musical instruments and composing while his evenings were spent playing in various clubs throughout the city. 

Adrien sighed. At least Nino had Alya, Adrien didn’t have a significant other to confide in. Marinette from school had been a sort-of friend, but she was always so nervous around him, stumbling over words and stuttering like there was no tomorrow. He’d found it cute and more than a little endearing and as time went on she’d slowly begun to open up. By the time war had broken out they were close friends, (almost lovers if he were, to be honest). 

As the bell of Nino’s shop tinkled, Adrien was rudely jerked from his thoughts by a well-aimed drumstick hitting him square between the eyes.  
“Ow, what the hell Nino??!!”  
“Explain yourself Agreste, explain right now or so help me I’ll skin you alive!”  
“A-Alya? What’s going on? Nino!!???”  
“Oh no you don’t, explain why you’re now with the Germans?”  
“What? B-but I’m not!”  
“Then explain this??”  
Adrien recoiled instinctively at the newspaper shoved under his nose but Alya had him backed in a corner and when Alya had you cornered it was best to just submit and submit quickly.  
Adrien forced himself to look at the headline and with a grunt slumped to the floor as the words filled his soul with horror.  
“Agreste Heir to Found Volunteer SS Legion!”

 

“She’s coming around sir.”  
“Thank you, nurse, you’re dismissed.”  
“Yes, Sir.”

Marinette groaned as the light began to creep under her eyelids. The sound of hurried footsteps was muffled and she was clearly lying on a bed which meant she must be in a private room.   
But that didn’t make sense, she was only a corporal in the W.A.A.F. not an officer or a pilot.   
As she opened her eyes for an explanation, however, she merely found herself being greeted with more questions. Beside her bed sat two people, one she recognised as the base commander, a rather portly man with a thin moustache and glowering eyes, while the other one was a stick thin, older woman wearing a pressed pinstripe skirt and jacket combo.   
While the woman’s presence was odd, it was the Commander that caused the most concern. His dislike of W.A.A.F’s was legendary. Marinette felt her blood run cold, she must be in a hell of a lot of trouble for the base commander to turn up.   
However, before she could voice her fears, the woman spoke, “Well Miss Dupain-Cheng, it seems you’re quite the hero.”  
The words through every word that had been hurtling around in Marinette’s head into complete disarray. “P-pardon?”

“You managed to save two men who otherwise would have perished, and while under fire too. Most impressive.”  
“Tell me…” the woman continued without giving Marinette a chance to speak, “How did you feel while you were out there?”  
“N-n-nothing Ma’am, I just saw they needed help.”  
“I see. So, you don’t often go out during air raids then?”  
“Not if I can help it Ma’am.”  
The woman’s mouth quirked up in what might have been a smirk. “Well said.”  
She turned to the commander, “You may leave us. Make sure no one enters this room until I leave.”  
The commander stood abruptly and left, grumbling under his breath the entire time. The woman only turned back to Marinette when they’d seen the door close and heard him moving down the corridor.   
“Now then, Miss Cheng” the woman spoke briskly, “Time is money so I won’t beat about the bush. We want you.”  
Marinette quirked an eyebrow, “I beg your pardon?”  
“You speak perfect French, you come from Paris and you a supposed to be highly skilled as a baker and (if what your friends and parents have told me are true) fashion design?”  
“We-well I…”  
“Do you want to help win this war?”  
“Of course, I do!”  
“Even if it means leaving your family?”  
That gave Marinette pause, her parents were in London and the Luftwaffe had begun bombing there a few weeks ago.  
The woman merely shrugged at Marinette’s lack of response.  
“If you don’t think you’re up to it then I’m sure there’ll be others,” She stood abruptly, smoothing her skirt as she turned to the door.  
Marinette growled under her breath, damn her love of a challenge.  
“What do I have to do?”  
The woman turned, her hand still on the doorknob.  
“In short, you will be working abroad, for us.” She smiled but Marinette could read between the lines well enough.   
“And my Parents?”  
“Can never know. If this conversation is ever mentioned you will be immediately arrested and most likely executed under the emergency powers and Defence of the Realm Acts. In exchange for your services your pay will be forwarded to them.”  
Marinette’s head was reeling. Who the hell was this woman working for? But then again, she wanted to go back to France, she wanted her family to be able to go home, she wanted to see her friends again and be able to breathe in the air of Paris without worrying about war. (there was also the minor point that if she had to have one more of those damned awful date scones she was sure she’d throw up.)  
And while there, she might find out what had happened to Adrien.

“Alright then,” she declared, setting her jaw firmly, “I’ll do it.”  
The smirk the woman gave her should have warned her, but Marinette was too busy trying to straighten her thoughts.  
“Excellent,” she purred, sauntering back to Marinette’s bedside. “Welcome to the Special Operations Executive, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”


	2. Chapter 2

Adrien slumped in his chair and glanced at his two friends.   
He’d been able to convince Alya to hear him out with a little help from Nino (in other words, Nino blocking a door frame to hold Alya back while Adrien blurted everything out in a desperate bid save his life) that forming an S.S. legion was not his idea, and certainly not his desire.   
Nino, being the true friend that he was, had backed him up, even though he hadn’t been there when Adrien’s unit was slaughtered, and between them, they’d been able to calm Alya down enough to listen to his side of the story.

“So, it’s your father’s idea?”  
“Must be, as far as he’s concerned the Germans have the right idea and if I’m in the S.S. it’ll discredit me as a “hero” of the people.”   
“But you are a hero Adrien.”  
“No, I damn well wasn’t! I couldn’t even look after my men! I could have fought on and let them retreat!”  
“You weren’t to know what’d happen!”  
“ENOUGH!!!” both men flinched at Alya’s furious roar. “Adrien, is there no way you can get out of this?”  
“No”  
“Then we make the most of it! Nino and I were talking about this before you arrived. You’re both ex-army and if you’re in the German H.Q. you can pass intelligence onto us!”  
“But I don’t want to help the enemy!”  
“It’s an act Adrien, put on your model smile, be your courteous self and be as unhelpful as you can get away with!”  
*sigh* “Alright Alya, but on one condition!”  
“What?”  
“I get to take part in any attacks all right? I’m not going to sit back and let you lot take the risks!”  
“Didn’t think you would! Welcome to the resistance!”  
Wait wait wait guys” Nino broke in. “Two things. Firstly, are we really serious about this? If so, the second thing, and far more important in my opinion, what’s our group name?”  
“You can’t be serious Nino? Who cares?”  
“I care, I’m not going to be called a terrorist thank you very much!”  
“He has a point Alya.”  
“Thanks, man”  
“Any time mon ami!”  
“Well, it’d be a miracle if this group survives long, so what’s the…”  
“THAT’S IT!!!”  
“What is?!”  
“The Miraculous 3!”  
“Nino, that tells the Germans how many of us there are.”  
“Oh”

 

 

Marinette collapsed on her cot with a sigh, her eyes dragging closed. She felt her head was going to explode with all the information being crammed into it. Radio operations, how to handle and lay explosives, how to pass make forged papers, how to kill.   
She sighed, what was the point of all this anyway? All she knew was that she’d probably sent to Europe (please please please may if be Paris!) to gather intelligence. Not blowing things up!  
It didn’t help that classes were run at random times so she could be woken up at any time and pushed through some test or other.   
As sleep began to close in, Marinette’s mind slowly turned to her family. She’d heard that London was suffering greater bombings since the Battle of Britain had been won. Were her parents all right? Her world was growing soft and hazy with sleep when the door crashed open and German soldiers burst in. She tried to fight but before she could even get to her feet she was pinned down, her eyes covered and was dragged shrieking from the room, the harsh, barking voices of the soldiers filling her ears as she was hauled into darkness.

 

“So, you came to senses?”  
“Yes father.”   
“Good, go see Nathalie, she will show you your uniform.”  
“Yes father.”

Adrien sank to the floor, his back against the door, the field grey SS uniform lying on his bed, taunting him. He sighed but suddenly gasped as something dug into his side.   
Reaching into his jacket he felt a small box he was sure hadn’t been there before.   
Pulling it out he inspected the palm-sized black, hexagonal box. He was certain he’d never picked up something like that.   
But then again, this was a box and Adrien was nothing if not curious, however, no sooner had the box opened then a flash of green light engulfed his hand, blinding him for a moment as he tried to shield his eyes.   
“Well well well, this looks interesting!” the voice was high-pitched and slightly nasally and instantly put Adrien on alert!  
As he blinked the spots from his vision, Adrien was sure he was going made, there floating in front of him was a tiny black cat, its eyes the richest green he’d ever seen, and on top of all that it was talking!  
“So, you’re the new chosen eh? Not bad not too bad, least you’re not some alley kid!”  
“wh..what are you?”  
“Name’s Plagg kid! Congrats You’ve been chosen. This means you put on that ring there, save the world yadda yadda yadda and most important of all, you provide cheese!”  
“Wha… Cheese?!”  
“Yep, Camembert!”  
“Why?”  
“Kid, just put on the ring!”  
“Err right.”  
“Now repeat after me, Claws out”  
“Claws out!”  
Adrien flinched as green light swamped his body, tight black leather encasing his body.  
“Mon dieu!”

 

“Ahh, Herr Agreste, so glad you could make it.”  
“Of course, Herr Standartenführer, a pleasure. You’ve met my son?”  
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure,”  
Adrien smiled his toothiest model smile as he shook the man’s hand, Knochen’s fingers trying to crush his own. An unspoken challenge was met and Adrien struggled to hide a smirk as Knochen was the first to avert his eyes.   
As he went to pull his hand away however, Knochen tightened his grip. “That is certainly an interesting ring you are wearing monsieur Agreste,” he smiled thinly, his eyes appraising Adrien. “If you don’t mind my asking, why a paw print?”  
Adrien felt his features freeze and the burning gaze of his father focused on the back of his head. Suddenly his Standartenführer uniform was too tight. The swastikas seeming to sear through the cloth. The smug smirk on Knochen’s face filled his vision as he attempted to wrest back control of the conversation.  
“Purely a whim, Herr Standartenführer,” he purred, “But I find it suits me well.”  
Knochen looked as if he wanted to question further, but obviously he decided against it as he switched topics.  
“I was interested to note monsieur Agreste that you were a Capitaine in the cavalry during the invasion.”  
“Yes” Adrien grimaced, “I was.”  
“You were wounded?”  
“Yes.”  
“Do you think that will stop you from forming a legion?”  
“No.”  
“Adrien, address the Standartenführer properly!”  
“My apologies, no Herr Standartenführer”  
Knochen’s smile widened and he burst out in deep laughter. “I think we will work well together monsieur Standartenführer. You’re of proud Aryan stock and a hard fighter! You’ll do your country and the Reich proud!”  
Fighting the bile in his throat, Adrien raised his glass, “I certainly intend to,” he smiled.  
“And I’ll see you burn” he swore in his mind. “I’ll fight for France, not you!”

 

“Now then Miss Dupain-Cheng”, spat the chief interrogator, “Who was your contact?”  
“I don’t know,” gasped Marinette, her sobs echoing through the cellar, “My name is Bridgette Sourcoffe!”  
“Lies!”  
“It’s not! I don’t know what you want!”  
“Give us the information!”  
“But I don’t know anything!”  
“Very well, Guards! Bring her here!”  
“Wha…What are you doing?”  
“Take off her hood!”  
“where… no don*splash*”  
Marinette fought her instinct to scream as her head was forced into the bucket of water. She had to hold her breath, she wasn’t going to die like this, not without having done something!  
As her lungs began to burn her head was yanked out, her lungs barely sucking in a teaspoonful of beautiful air before she was shoved in again. Her body tried to wriggle out of the iron grip of the two guards but it wasn’t enough. Her vision swam and her lungs screamed in agony when she was yanked out again.  
This went on for what seemed like hours before she was thrown roughly to the stone floor and a guard began to beat her, she just curled into a ball, desperate to shield herself, not noticing the hits weren’t as strong as they could be, and were only landing in certain areas. Finally, exhaustion claimed her and her body relaxed as she lost consciousness.

“Hmm, that took longer than I thought,” hummed the interrogator, his upper-class English accent at odds with his German uniform. “Have to say though, I think she passed with flying colours.”  
He turned to the two guards, “Put her back in her dorm, she still has classes in the morning, but I think she’s almost ready.”  
Once the guards had carried Marinette’s unconscious form up the stairs back towards her comfortable dorm, the officer turned, lighting a cigarette as he began to right a report on Agent Bridgette Sourcoffe, Codename, Ladybug.

 

“Citizens of Paris”, the city’s mayor intoned, “I have called this meeting so that our German allies may make a few announcements regarding security following the attacks these past few weeks.”  
As the mayor droned on, Adrien scanned the audience, he could see Alya sitting amongst the reporters, even from this distance her distaste for the portly stateman speaking was plainly visible.   
The speech was taking place at the foot of the Eiffel tower, the area surrounded by a ring of Gendarmes and German soldiers. Armoured cars and trucks were operating road blocks on all the surrounding streets. German field police with their dogs were making their way through the crowds.   
Adrien chuckled to himself, all this security for a group that was only started a month ago. Their numbers had increased since that first meeting. Nathaniel, an artist had been recruited after the group found him painting anti-Nazi murals on walls all over the city. Alix had actually found them, a tomboy through and through she had proved to be a highly aggressive fighter and was helping to train the group with firearms on her wealthy family’s indoor range.  
At the start, the groups attacks had been small, anti-Nazi posters or slogans on walls and parked trucks. The occasional stolen trucks (one ammunition truck was a very welcome find), and patrols being lead deep into the alleys of Paris only to find themselves picked off one by one.   
However, as time progressed, things began to change. Firstly, Adrien began to stop attending the groups attacks, instead a shadowy creature with green eyes followed the group, and began to attack isolated German foot patrols. Another thing was Adrien telling the group not to kill German Wehrmacht troops, only Gestapo and SS. The reason for this was Adrien’s increasing responsibilities in the Paris headquarters. While not putting together a legion, he was closely involved with Wehrmacht officers and men, and had quickly come to a realisation. Most of the German soldiers weren’t entirely keen on the war or the Nazis, in fact, a number of them (who hadn’t realized he’d been listening in on their conversations) had made clear they just wanted to go home. Rather than killing these men, Adrien suggested that if the resistance showed a degree of restraint, some soldiers might be more open to dropping information.   
While the new tactic had yet to reap rewards Adrien was confident it was only a matter of time. He’d revealed himself as Chat Noir to Nino but sworn him to secrecy, even from Alya to prevent her from trying to make Chat Noir too much of a figure head.   
Suddenly, Adrien was jerked from his thoughts by an explosion at the edge of the park, a manhole cover blowing straight up into the underside of an armoured car. Civilians screamed and ran while Soldiers struggled to maintain order. Adrien played his part of the surprised officer, drawing his pistol he leapt of the stage and ran as best he could towards a nearby alley, shouting for contractionary orders to each soldier he passed, just to add to the confusion, he also loosed off a couple of shots into the air to cause more panic.   
When he finally made it down the alley, he made a few turns to throw off any pursuit before making his way to the rendezvous with Nino.  
“Adrien! Quick over here!”  
“Right, ready?”  
“You bet, I can’t wait to see their faces!”  
“Me neither, Plagg, Claws out!”  
“I’ll never get tired of watching that my friend!”  
“hehehe, here goes nothing!”

 

Chat Noir grinned as he dropped onto the stage, sauntering up to the microphone his belt/tail swishing behind him, he tapped it once to test it before launching into his introduction!  
“Citizens of Paris, my name is Chat Noir! I am here for one simple purpose, to defend the people of Paris from those who would do them harm! To the German occupiers, I say this, you are not welcome. You will never conquer our spirit and you will never conquer Paris!”

The stunned soldiers and police (and remaining journalists, including a furiously writing Alya) could only stare. Chat merely gave a two-fingered salute and using his baton to launch himself onto the roof tops, disappeared into the night.

Half an hour later, Standartenführer Agreste was found unconscious in an alley way. Later, in hospital, he told his superiors of being attacked by a black-clad, cat-like man who cornered him before striking him over the head.

 

Latest reports from Paris Ma’am.  
“Good good, leave them here.”  
“What, more reports of our “brave” Frog colleagues?”  
“Most likely… Wait a moment”  
“What is it?”  
“this must be a bloody joke, cat-like monsters in Paris?”  
“Let’s see… hmmmm, must be false reports. Wait a moment.”  
“What?”  
“Bring me “Bridgette’s” file!”  
“You can’t just access agent’s files!”  
“Watch me, ah here it is! Agreste! Our girl knew him before the war, was quite close to him judging by this!”  
“So, what?”  
“So, she needs to go! Get her prepped and on a Lysander within 36 hours!”  
“Why?”  
“There’s a growing resistance movement in Paris which is able to convince the Germans they’ve got a cat monster! We need to make contact as soon as possible! This Agreste is also in the SS, “Bridgette” can make contact!”  
“Are you going to tell her that her old beau is SS?”  
“Of course not! Get her on that damned flight!”

 

*knock knock*  
“Miss?”  
“hmmm… yes… what is it? *Yawn*”  
“I know its late miss but you need to get up!”  
“Right *yawn* what do I need to do?”  
“Get dressed and back your case, there’s a car for you.”  
Marinette’s blood froze. She was leaving, for Europe.  
Her bag was packed (it had stayed packed for a month since she officially finished training) and getting dressed didn’t take long at all.

The car wound its way through dark country lanes, the thin slits of light from the covered headlights casting strange, ghostly shadows on the hedgerows they passed occasionally reflecting off the eyes of the occasional nocturnal animal.  
Finally, the car slipped through a chain-link fence, the guards at the gate checked the drivers pass and waved them through without asking her for anything.   
The airstrip was small, grass strip affair, Lysanders and other small aircraft parked neatly under camouflage netting, except one. That one aircraft sat at the end of the runway, its engine purring quietly.   
Marinette climbed out of the car and was led by the driver to a small shack nearby where she was directed to put on warm coveralls over her clothes followed by a parachute harness and helmet. 

She was ready, she was really going.

She was terrified.

 

Doors slammed, engines revved, wheels left the ground. 

 

Doors opened. A silent pilot gave her a nod full of good wishes.

 

She was falling, falling, a snap, a pull and she was drifting, drifting drifting down.

Thud. Quickly gather up the chute, hurry to the supply tube. 

Hushed voices, finger on a trigger.

 

Welcome to France mademoiselle.


End file.
